An Unfit Son
by Lucifer's Garden
Summary: In a crowd of hundreds, Hermione is the only one who sees Draco perform a single act of defiance against his father.
1. Chapter 1

_**All characters belong to JK Rowling**_

**Fairly AU oneshot. There's a slight extension to this, but I am debating whether or not I should add it.**

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_**An Unfit Son**_

A good friend would have continued cheering on with the rest of the crowd – after all, when would Ron ever make such a miraculous save again in his life? Hermione Granger liked to consider herself a good friend, and in many ways she was. But the second Ron knocked the Quaffle back towards the Slytherin end with remarkable strength and speed, a shadow fell over her and left everyone else illuminated in the sun. She turned around.

At first, all she could see was a single silhouette hovering motionless above and behind the stands, haloed and faceless. She shielded her eyes, ignoring Neville's excited grasp on her arm, demanding that she look at all the sour faces in the Slytherin section.

The look of shock on Draco Malfoy's face mirrored her own. He was staring down at his hand, where the snitch lay trapped in the cage of his fingers, beating its tiny wings helplessly. Even from where she sat, Hermione saw the distinct gold flash that normally would have been in Harry's triumphant palm by now. But Harry, like everyone else, was still applauding Ron's save, and hadn't even begun looking for the snitch yet.

Draco glanced around uncertainly, as if unsure of what to do now that he had won the match. Hermione watched him, unable to make a sound. She could hardly believe it herself. Draco had won matches before – really, he wasn't that bad of a Seeker – but never fair and square against Gryffindor. Never against Harry, said to be the greatest Seeker Hogwarts had seen in a century. Draco, considered among his peers to be something akin to royalty, never seemed to stand a chance. No matter how much money his father spent on state-of-the-art brooms, Harry always remained one step ahead in the Quidditch pitch.

_His father._

As if sharing the same thought, Hermione and Draco both looked to the guest stands, where a distinctive head of white blond hair stood out from the rest.

Lucius Malfoy was busily flipping through a file of papers, no doubt related to the company he owned, occasionally scratching down something with an expensive-looking quill. By all appearances, he hadn't even noticed the ruckus happening around him in response to Ron's rare display of quick thinking. Hermione looked back up to Draco, her heart twisting inside at the look of unmasked hurt and anger on his face. She had never seen him look so young before. Anger swelled inside, outrage at Lucius' callousness. Why bother showing up to the match if you were not even going to watch your son play? Why try to keep up appearances if there was nothing to see?

Draco was again regarding the little golden ball in hand. He stared at it for a very long time, and where he had looked like a lost child only a moment ago, he was suddenly looking far older than any teenager Hermione had ever seen. She nearly stood up and screamed at him when he let go of the snitch.

It was gone in an instant, before she could allow herself a sliver of hope that Draco would come to his senses and reclaim it. But he simply watched it disappear, and did not move from that spot for the rest of the game.

Later, when Harry at last caught the snitch, Hermione only clapped half-heartedly. She felt as though she had just witnessed a crime, though Harry certainly couldn't be blamed for being a good Seeker. No one, not even the commentator, had seen Draco's victory. She felt like a fool for not having said anything. But that's what good friends do, she supposed with a sigh.

Instinctively her eyes sought out Draco down on the field, where he was walking behind his teammates towards the change rooms. Lucius was watching him with a bored look of disgust. Draco shivered suddenly and looked up to meet his father's disapproving gaze. He seemed to diminish on the spot, as if worn away by Lucius' disdain. Hermione clenched her fists. Lucius glanced down at his pocket watch.

As Draco crossed the threshold into the change rooms, his tired, defeated posture only confirmed what the world had been telling him all along; that he was, and always had been, simply not good enough.


	2. Chapter 2

She waited for quite some time before she was certain that everyone else was gone. The change room was dark, save for the light pouring in through an open window, landing on Draco's bare back. He was hunched over on a bench, elbows resting on his knees, hiding his face in his hands. He was still wearing his Quidditch pants, gloves, and boots, bathed lightly in sweat.

Hermione edged in closer, nearly invisible in the dark.

"Why did you let go?" she asked in barely more than a whisper.

He looked up sharply, his pale features slightly shadowed. She moved closer to the light, and his eyes widened.

"What the hell do you think you're doing here?" he snarled, standing up.

"I saw it," she continued fiercely, accusingly. "I _saw_ it in your hand. How could you just let go of it like that?"

"Get out, Granger," Draco spat. "Go back to your tower. Your boyfriends will miss you at their victory party."

"Tell me," she begged, knowing how irrational this whole confrontation was. She took a few steps forward. "Just tell me why – "

"Go away, mudblood," he said warningly, his voice rising.

"Draco . . ."

"I SAID GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!"

"NO!"

He started at her retaliation. He had not expected her to lash back so violently.

"Why do you care?" he demanded. He didn't look angry so much as he looked wary of her. "What the hell are you doing here anyway, Granger?"

She opened and closed her mouth, unsure of where to start. "I don't know," she admitted, looking down at the ground between them. "You grabbed the snitch first. You should have won, even I can say that. Then I saw Lucius, and I – "

"Do _not_ speak to me about my father," Draco hissed, cutting her off. She flinched at the venom in his tone. "You have no right to even start on him, do you hear me?"

Her eyes flashed. "Draco Malfoy, don't you dare tell me where to draw the line," she snapped. "Of all the people I have met in my life, you have crossed that line more times than I can count! You stomp on everyone else to make yourself some kind of god, but you can't even look your father in the eye or stand up straight when next to him. You lash out at anyone who is different from you because Daddy tells you it's the right thing to do, but all it does is alienate you and turn _you _into the enemy."

He gaped at her.

"You know why I'm here, right now, talking to you? You know why I followed you down here?" she went on, her fists trembling at her side. "Because when I saw let go of the snitch, I thought I saw someone who could use a friend. It was stupid and I wish to God I hadn't come here, but I did, and here I am."

"You . . . you really are mad . . ." he said in amazement, shaking his head at her. She stared back levelly, though her cheeks were flushed.

For a long time their gazes held, each trying to stare down the other. Hermione nearly gave up, prepared to turn and abandon this whole absurd endeavour when suddenly Draco's expression fell wide open. Closing his eyes, he sighed heavily and sat down back down. He seemed to be inwardly debating something, and Hermione held her breath for fear of ruining the moment. When he spoke at long last, his words were hesitant.

"When I was six, I begged my father to take me with him to Gringotts. I used to have this . . . ridiculous notion that I wanted to be a banker one day. I thought it would be fun to work with the goblins," he confessed, smiling bitterly. Hermione smiled back softly, carefully sitting down next to him. The idea that Draco Malfoy had ever been a whimsical child was almost as unnerving as it was endearing. "Anyway . . . naturally, he made me carry some of his things. Said some bullshit about it building character. Really, I think he just wanted me to be useful for a change. I remember I could barely see anything – I had all these papers and folders stacked up in my arms. He kept marching ahead, not realizing that I was falling behind."

The image was already bringing tears to Hermione's eyes. Draco wasn't looking at her, staring at the floor between his knees as if reading the memory off a page in a book.

"I wanted to call out for him to wait, to come back and help, but I had this scarf over my face to keep warm – it was winter. I started to run, but I slipped on some ice and fell down. I sprained my ankle and started crying, but my father was so far ahead that he didn't even notice. The papers scattered everywhere, in the snow and mud, getting completely ruined. Eventually he realized I wasn't behind him, and he started calling me, telling me to hurry up. I was scrambling to pick everything up in time to catch up, which only made things worse. After a while I wasn't even crying from pain. I was frustrated, and desperate not to keep him waiting. He threatened to leave without me if I took too long.

"It just . . . it feels like I'm still there," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Still trying to keep up. Trying to prove that I can be his son, the perfect son who never makes mistakes. Only I do. Every single day."

He suddenly turned to face her. "You know why I let go of the snitch, Granger?"

She blinked, hastily wiping the tears away. He had caught her off guard, addressing her so abruptly. "Why?"

"Because," he said, gritting his teeth. "I fucking _hate_ that game."

Hermione stared at him, her mouth a perfectly shaped 'O'.

"I _hate_ it. I never wanted to join, other than to get back at Potter. And, I suppose, to please my father," he admitted, his lip curling in revulsion. "He was a star player on his team back when he was in school here. It was just . . . natural, I suppose, that I should be too."

She began say something placating, but he held up his hand and shook his head. "If you start talking now, I'm just going to stand up and walk away," he explained. "I need to speak, Granger. Please . . . don't spoil it."

She nodded and fell silent. He took a deep breath before going on.

"I had always told myself that everything would be all right if I could just catch the snitch. Merlin knows I had failed at everything else. I wasn't smart enough, popular enough, charming enough. I've been expecting some giant reward for all the effort I put into a stupid game that I can barely stand. I thought maybe I would look down and see my father looking back at me. Maybe there would be something other than disappointment on his face. Maybe he would actually be proud of me, for once in my whole goddamn life."

Hermione winced at the crack in his voice. He stopped and gathered himself again, clenching his fists to stop them from shaking.

"And when I had it . . . when I actually had it in my hand . . . it was so small, so cheap. I couldn't believe how much I had been fighting for it, wanting it, praying to somehow be able to touch it, just once, just for _him_. And he didn't see it. All this time, all the lectures and insults, the pressure he's been putting on me to win, to be the very best . . . and the bastard wasn't even _watching_."

Hermione exhaled slowly, unsteadily. She was crying again.

"I just got very sick of it all. I couldn't take it anymore," he finished, finally lifting his gaze to meet hers.

"I understand. I really do," she told him, fighting the urge to take his hand. "And . . . and I wish I could say something else."

He snorted. "It's probably best that you don't. I'm sure I will regret this later."

"I hope not."

He narrowed his eyes slightly. "You're not going to try and hug me, are you?"

Hermione managed a small sound, something between a laugh and a sob. "I suppose that would be somewhat inappropriate," she confessed, shaking her head.

"And weird."

"That too."

Before the silence that followed could turn awkward, they both stood up.

"Well," Hermione coughed. "I should get going."

He nodded, also clearing his throat. "Yeah. Right."

She offered a tentative smile before turning around, heading for the door.

Something warm latched onto her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. She whirled around, startled. Draco looked down at his hand on her arm, looking about as surprised as she felt.

"I, uh . . ." he stammered, frowning at himself. Hermione's eyes darted back and forward between his hold on her and his uncomfortable expression. "I just wanted to . . ."

A small grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. "You're not going to try and hug me, are you?" she asked teasingly.

He flushed and quickly released her, looking distinctly self-conscious. She almost wished she hadn't said anything.

"Thank you," he managed to say. "For . . . you know."

Her grin broadened a little. "You're welcome."

He suddenly scowled at her. "If you tell anyone about this, I'll kill you. You know that, right?"

She nodded seriously. "Of course."

"Right. Good."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Hermione was half way across the room before she suddenly came darting back. Before he could react, she threw her arms around him and planted a light kiss on his cheek.

By the time Draco managed to snap his jaw shut again, she had already skipped out the door.

**FIN**


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